Do Not Play With Marie Scott Today.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: July 19, 2012

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Submitted: July 19, 2012



A woman lights a Virgina Slims and the smoke rises slowly from the cherry ember in the dark New York alley way. It's hard to tell if it's mist or smoke escaping her painted ruby lips. Her green eyes slowly scan the alley. A small, beaten up stray cat jumps on top of a fence and stares at her. Only two hearts beated in that small alley. She rubbes one of her temples, trying to erase the dull ache she recieved from work. While her other hand flicks the cigarette to remove the lengthy ash.

The woman took a long drag and shivered as the howling wind brushed against her naked calves. She wore a skirt and dress shirt and covering her small shoulders was a leather coat. She unclipped the name tag that was attached to her blouse and starred at it for a moment. Marie Scott, it read. Sales associate for Macy's. She shivered at the name. She threw the tag across the alley and as it bounced off the grimey brick building, a fresh tear fell from her eye. She slithered down the wall and sat on the filthy ground. Her cigarette fell to the ground and died out as it rolled into a small puddle.

Marie's hand rushed up to her cheek and eye. Hidden under all the thick cover up, was a large bruise and black eye. The images of her "beloved" husband with an angry face and the back of his hand kept appearing into mind.

She swore to herself that she wouldnt let it happen again. She swore that next time the police would be called. And yet... every time she just took it. She couldn't fight back. She was small and weak compared to his massive size. Marie was better than much better! Marie cried and her sobs became silent after five minutes or so. She stood up, brushed off the dirt from her behind wiped away the smeared masscarra. Her fists clenched and her heart began to race. She walked out of the alley and across the silent street. She walked up to the sporting goods store across from her job. As she walked into the store she fumbled around with her purse and pulled out 25 dollars. The thoughts that ran through Marie's mind were in fact crazy and murderous. But every nerve pushed her foward, every fiber of her being made her make her way to the metal bats in the back of the store. She picked out a bat. A metal one that said Slug 'Em. Marie smiled and briskly walked up to the register and laid the bat upon the grey counter.

The cashier raised an eyebrow in suspicion and curiosity.

"Son needed a new bat for little league." Marie lied.

The cashier nodded and rung her up.

No one knows what happened to Marie. What they do know is that her husband had a bat-size bruise on the side of his temple as they lowered him six feet under

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